Answer, by Lord CHESTERFIELD

Garrick, I've read your Fools' Petition, And thank you for the composition; Tho' few will credit all you say, Yet, 'tis a friendly part you play; A part which you perform with ease, Whate'er you act is sure to please.

But give me leave, on this occasion, To make one little observation: Though no good reason is assign'd, At least not any I can find, Why I should be deaf, dumb, or blind; Yet since it was resolv'd above, By this same fool-obeying JOVE, I must not speak, or hear, or see, Surely to soften the decree, He might have left the choice to me. Were that the case, I would dispense With sight, and wit, and eloquence, Still to retain my fav'rite sense; For grant, my friend, we would admit What some may doubt, that I have wit; What are the mighty pow'rs of speech, What useful purpose do they reach? When vain and impotent you see, Ev'n down from Socrates to me, All the bons-mots that e'er were said To mend the heart, or clear the head; Fools will be fools, say what we will, And rascals will be rascals still.

But rather I your case would be in, Say you, than lose the pow'r of seeing? The face of nature you will say Is ever chearful, ever gay, And beauty, parent of delight, Must always charm the ravish'd sight.

This choice perhaps I might commend, But here, you have forgot my friend, That nature's face, and beauty's heav'n, Lose all their charms at seventy-seven; The brightest scenes repeated o'er, As well you know, will please no more; The prospect's darken'd o'er with age, The drama can no more engage, We wish, with you, to quit the stage.

In short, it is a point I'm clear in, The best of senses is, our hearing: Happy who keeps it still, and he Who wants must mourn the loss like me; For though I little should regret The table's roar where fools are met, The flatt'ring tribe who sing or say The lies or tattle of the day; Still have I cause for discontent, Still lose what most I must lament, The converse of a chosen few, The luxury of—hearing you.